


Stuck On The Puzzle

by teddyaltmeme



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, also 2nd person pov dylan ??, im sorry this doesnt make sense?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-15 22:50:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8075953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teddyaltmeme/pseuds/teddyaltmeme
Summary: Mitch is a puzzle; a Rubik's Cube your shaky fingers can't solve.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i'm aware this makes little to no sense and is actual garbage but i'm only mildly sorry about that.  
> i'm also aware that this starts off like its gonna be angsty but then isnt really and is also probably 100% ooc.  
> the title and general premise r from this song here: www.youtube.com/watch?v=zOiCIugAISg (go listen PLEASE i love)

Mitch is a puzzle; a Rubik's Cube your shaky fingers can't solve.  
You fell in love with him when you were 15, insisting it was hate, you let it metastasise- grow until you were sick with it.  
You've made a habit of clenching your jaw when he's around, scared of what might come out if you let it loosen even a little- but after a while your filter starts to go, and you tell him you love him a little more often than you probably should, though he returns it every time.  
You look at him through a rose-tinted, soft-focus camera lens; commit snapshots of him smiling to your memory.

Now you're 18 and he's staying over at yours, and you are, arguably, even sicker, your filter; practically non-existent.  
  
Mitch's fingers find the dimmer switch, turning it till the light's are almost out. The act itself has little meaning, but something about the way Mitch looks as he does it sticks in your mind.  
You watch him traipse back over towards the bed; in his tiredness he looks painfully soft. You hope desperately the low lighting obscures whatever lovelorn look you're most likely sending his way. Like usual, you find it hard to gauge what he's thinking when he slips under the covers next to you, tucking himself wordlessly under your arm.  
You aren't tired, but you aren't awake enough to do anything, and you don't think Mitch is either. So you just lay there, watching his head on your chest as it goes up and down with your breathing.  
"I wanna sing you love songs." It's out of your mouth before you can stop it, and you feel your cheeks heat up- _great confession, Stromer,_ you think, _might as well have asked him to marry you._  
"Do you now?" Mitch's voice is muffled against your t-shirt, tone indistinguishable, but he's started tracing little circles (maybe hearts) on your stomach with his fingertips.  
"What kind of love songs?"  
He lifts his head up to look at you, and the angle his neck is bent at seems as though it should be painful, but it's hard to care when he looks at you the way he does, sleepy and bordering apprehensive- it's cautious in a way that Mitch usually isn't; his fingers are light on your arm and his breath sounds uneven. It's a softer side of Mitch, who's usually all wide smiles and overconfidence. You aren't sure if it's a safer side though, because it's all you can do to answer instead of kissing whatever doubts Mitch has out of him.  
"I knew you were trouble when you walked in-" you start, quiet and off key. Mitch laughs and you continue. "Now I'm lying on the cold, hard ground."  
"I wish you were lyin' on the ground, idiot, then I'd have this bed all to myself." His eyes crinkle when he smiles, you like this face better than its predecessor. "Anyway, how am I trouble- if anything I'm the opposite of trouble, I'm an angel."  
"You're too..." You fail to find a word that quite describes how you feel about him; you never did pay enough attention in English class, " _Marner-y_."  
"Oh, buddy, what's that supposed to mean!" He huffs out, it's mock angry, synonymous with that stupid little pout he always does, overdramatic in a way you can only attribute to Mitch.  
Your stomach hurts from trying to suppress your laughter when Mitch sighs again- louder, more aggressive- and rolls over to the other side of the, relatively small, bed. You lose it when he starts stage whispering though; _'what the fuck does 'Marner-y' even mean. I'm glad he can't hear me- stupid Stromer.'_

Neither of you talk for a while after that, you're trying to get your breath back after laughing so hard and Mitch just watches you do so.  
"Back to love songs." He moves closer to you- just close enough that you can feel his breath ghosting your skin, hot but not unpleasant, you don't turn to look at him, afraid that this close your pink cheeks will show that you weren't joking.  
"What else is there to say?" You know you sound nervous, you feel it too.  
"Did you mean it, do you really want to?" Mitch's emotions are always hidden so easily behind a neat mask of nonchalance and you wonder if he judges you for your inability to keep your feelings out of your voice.  
It had been a badly phrased 'I love you', a real one, one you wish would've slipped under the radar. You don't distract yourself with answering this time.  
Your body feels as if it's on autopilot as you pull him close and kiss his forehead.  
It takes Mitch less than a few seconds to register what's happening, his muscles tense underneath your palms.  
"Dyl-" he stops himself, does what you weren't brave enough to do; put his mouth to yours. It's perfectly imperfect; Mitch's teeth scrape against your bottom lip in just the right way and you make stupid keening noise in the back of your throat that makes Mitch laugh and break away.  
"God." You don't understand Mitch, you don't think you ever will. It seems impossible that he could love you, but equally as impossible that he couldn't.  
"Go to sleep, lover boy." 

_X_

That morning Mitch pulls your coyotes issued hoodie over his head and the sight of him in it fills you with an odd sense of possessiveness- not to mention the red contrasts prettily with his eyes. He smiles brightly at you, and your stomach does somersaults.   
You still feel sick with love for him, but it's nicer to know he might feel the same about you.


End file.
